


Connoiseurs

by FalcoDarkBlade



Category: Connoiseurs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Politics, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, F/M, Future Fic, Gore, Near Future, Politics, Revenge, Violence, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalcoDarkBlade/pseuds/FalcoDarkBlade
Summary: In a future where we have reverted to the ways of our past, where all forms of government, economic systems, and social structures have failed. In a futuristic-medieval era, where the Kings and Queens do not come into power based on bloodlines and lineages, or by a crown on their heads; They earn their power by the skills that they possess and the knowledge in their heads. These Kings and Queens are Connoisseurs. They are experts in their fields. It is the responsibility of The Connoisseurs, to assist each other by working together to solve problems by using their expertise.





	1. FalcoDarkBlade

I awoke to the infernal ringing of my damned alarm clock. I reached out, blindly, trying to hit the snooze button for the 9th time this morning.

With still shut eyes, I felt around the nightstand for the clock. My hand brushed against the cold silver of the wedding band, that once belonged to the only person who made me feel somewhat human. I got lost as the memories came flooding back, assaulting my half-asleep brain with waves of images and flashbacks of my past, until I found myself drowning in the never-ending sea of emotions, and caught in the undertow of sorrow.

Her name was Angel

Before her, I was completely desensitized.

It all started when I was 2. My mom found me with our pet cat, Tiger. Well, she found me with Tiger's head. All that remained of the body, was a puddle that I was playing in. Needless to say, she was not very happy.

She refused to buy me another pet after that, thinking it was some sort of punishment. It didn't stop me though. I placed food on my bedroom window sill to lure in stray cats and dogs, birds, and squirrels. For 4 years, she had no idea. Until one day, she walked in on me wearing a stray cat's face, like a mask.

Then came boarding school. I grabbed my principal's ass in her office and got expelled. The reason that I was in her office, was because I convinced 4 kids to fight for my entertainment. They couldn't decide who should use the crayons first, so I told them that they should battle it out. They called it "The Crayon Championship". It's not my fault that they were idiots.

After that, no schools would take me. I was a 6-year-old psychopath and I loved it.

My mom shipped me off to Military School, when I turned 7, to teach me discipline. Well, after 3 months, my Drill Sergeant labeled me as a lost cause. He then informed me that since I could not control my violent urges, the only solution would be for me to learn how to use them constructively. He wanted to train me and mold me into a weapon.

I had spent 19 years training my mind and body to deliver and tolerate all forms of pain. I learned how to block my emotions and channel my feelings into anger and sadistic desires. I have studied techniques for manipulating the senses and nerve endings that create such excruciating agony that would even make a cadaver cry. I have utilized and mastered every torture device known to man and I have invented many of my own. I have learned the subtle art of psychological torture and discovered a way to trick the mind into thinking that pleasure is actually pain and vice versa. I taught myself how to dismember a body and prevent the victim from bleeding out, thus keeping them alive longer, which means more playtime for me. After experimenting, I discovered how to reattach the limbs, which was great for turning my victims into works of art, or puzzles depending on my mood.

Physical torture is like an aphrodisiac to me and the screams of my enemies are like the seductive call of the Siren's song.

I am a sadist.

I have used this training and these techniques to help me get to where I am today. I became a Connoisseur at the age of 26. To be exact, I am The Connoisseur of Justice, Pain, and Punishment. It is my privilege, my honor, and my duty, to enforce justice, by ensuring that the actions and reactions of the people whom I serve are justified and ethical. When they are not, it is my job to administer the punishment. 

I have always had a cold, unfeeling heart. Until the day that Angel came into my life. November 11th, 2067. On that fateful day, I saw the world in a different light. She gave me my first taste of happiness and taught me how to smile. I no longer cared about inflicting pain and causing suffering. The only thing that mattered to me was her happiness and our life together, which was amazing.

We got married on May 11th, 2069. It was a beach ceremony, officiated by Luke Johnson, the Connoisseur of Theology.

For 7 beautiful years, everything was perfect. During this period of bliss, the only time that I ever hurt anyone was in the line of duty or when I felt that someone posed a potential threat to my family. 

However, these instances were a different kind of torture. It wasn't about causing my victims pain just for the hell of it, or the rush, or fun, or for gits and shiggles.

Before Angel, I would have reveled in the pain and suffering and gotten off using their blood as lube. But this... this... was different. I felt scared for her. I worried about what would happen to her if I wasn't there to protect her. What if the pain that I inflicted on my victims wasn't enough to keep them away from her? What if they didn't learn from this pain. This torture wasn't about me enjoying a blood bath. Instead, it was about me teaching these potential threats that if they fuck with my family they will pay. It was me ensuring the safety of my wife. And it worked. Everyone knew and feared the name of DarkBlade. They knew what would happen if they crossed me.

Until one day, 6 years ago, when my worst fears were imagined. Angel was taken from me by a rival of mine, named Jack Trader. Jack was an aspiring connoisseur who had wanted my spot amongst the ranks of The Connoisseurs.

Jack had challenged me to "The Contest of Connoisseurs" to see which of us was the expert of justice, pain, and punishment in order to determine who truly deserved the title of Connoisseur.

Jack lost the justice portion of the contest because he lacked the common sense and morality to make proper judgment calls. He, also, lost the pain and punishment portion of the contest, because his methods of torture were mediocre and he could not break me. I won and maintained my position and title of Connoisseur.

The next day, while I was working in my dungeon, I got a call from Angel. But when I answered, Jack was on the other line. Since his methods of physical torture did not phase me, he kidnapped and tortured Angel in an effort to psychologically torture me. He killed her in the process.

Today is May, 15th, 2082. Four days after what would have been our 13th wedding anniversary. I have spent the last 6 years searching for Jack, and to this day there is still not a trace of him or Angel’s body. But I will find them. And when I do, I will make him beg me for death. But he will not receive it, for death is a form of mercy. I will not give him that gift. He will suffer. I will make sure of it. He will know what it is like to suffer the way that Angel did.

This ring, which was once a symbolic embodiment of my first and only love, true happiness, and a life that was second to none, is now just a reminder that I am not made of stone and that I actually can feel something. Actually, I can feel many things. I feel guilt and remorse for going to work and leaving Angel at home alone that day. I feel anger and rage and an insatiable bloodlust for that sore losing motherfucker. I feel sad and alone without Angel. I feel frustrated that I can't control my feelings. I can't stand being able to feel. I wish I could turn it off. Alas, even if I could I wouldn't, for then I would truly lose her. The pain is unbearable, but she is worth all the pain in the world. For her, I will gladly endure it. It hurts, but the pain keeps her fresh in my heart and in my memory.

The sound of the forgotten alarm jolted me from the sea of memories.

Through half-opened eyes, I checked the time. It was 9:27 a.m..

"I am getting really tired of this shit. 10 a.m. is too damn early for the Convening of the Fucking Assholes".

I should have been up by 8 a.m., but I decided to sleep in because, after a scratch and sniff and armpit check, I determined that I didn't smell too badly and I did not want to waste any precious sleep on showering. I, also, didn't have to worry about finding an outfit and getting dressed because I went to sleep last night in today's outfit. It was a black and blue pin-striped suit, with a 3 tone blue tie, a black vest, blue shirt, and matching gator skin belt and shoes.

I brushed my teeth with a slice of barbecue chicken pizza that I had left over from dinner last night and a cold cup of black gold. Let's face it: no matter how bad your morning breath is, the smells of day-old pizza and burnt coffee are much stronger, thus, masking the breath quite well.

I glanced at the clock on my way out to the garage and it was 9:30. Now, not to toot my own horn or anything, but 3 minutes to be ready and out of the door is impressive, even by my standards.

Fuck yea, right on time.

So, I am heading to The Convening Hall of Connoisseurs. Nothing ever happens on the way there, so, I will use my time behind the wheel, to explain to you what The Convening is, and exactly what the fuck is going on.Falco DarkBlade  
I awoke to the infernal ringing of my damned alarm clock. I reached out, blindly, trying to hit the snooze button for the 9th time this morning.

With still shut eyes, I felt around the nightstand for the clock. My hand brushed against the cold silver of the engagement ring, that I intended to give to the only person who made me feel somewhat human. I got lost as the memories came flooding back, assaulting my half-asleep brain with waves of images and flashbacks of my past, until I found myself drowning in the never-ending sea of emotions, and caught in the undertow of sorrow.

Her name was Angel

Before her, I was completely desensitized.

It all started when I was 2. My mom found me with our pet cat, Tiger. Well, she found me with Tiger's head. All that remained of the body, was a puddle that I was playing in. Needless to say, she was not very happy.

She refused to buy another pet after that, thinking it was some sort of punishment. It didn't stop me though. I placed food on my bedroom window sill to lure in stray cats and dogs, birds, and squirrels. For 4 years, she had no idea. Until one day, she walked in on me wearing a stray cat's face, like a mask.

Then came boarding school. I grabbed my principal's ass in her office and got expelled. The reason that I was in her office, was because I convinced 4 kids to fight for my entertainment. They couldn't decide who should use the crayons first, so I told them that they should battle it out. They called it "The Crayon Championship". It's not my fault that they were idiots.

After that, no schools would take me. I was a 6-year-old psychopath and I loved it.

My mom shipped me off to Military School, when I turned 7, to teach me discipline. Well, after 3 months, my Drill Sergeant labeled me as a lost cause. He then informed me that since I could not control my violent urges, the only solution would be for me to learn how to use them constructively. He wanted to train me and mold me into a weapon.

I had spent 19 years training my mind and body to deliver and tolerate all forms of pain. I learned how to block my emotions and channel my feelings into anger and sadistic desires. I have studied techniques for manipulating the senses and nerve endings that create such excruciating agony that would even make a cadaver cry. I have utilized and mastered every torture device known to man and I have invented many of my own. I have learned the subtle art of psychological torture and discovered a way to trick the mind into thinking that pleasure is actually pain and vice versa. I taught myself how to dismember a body and prevent the victim from bleeding out, thus keeping them alive longer, which means more playtime for me. After experimenting, I discovered how to reattach the limbs, which was great for turning my victims into works of art, or puzzles depending on my mood.

Physical torture is like an aphrodisiac to me and the screams of my enemies are like the seductive call of the Siren's song.

I am a sadist.

I have used this training and these techniques to help me get to where I am today. I became a Connoisseur at the age of 26. To be exact, I am The Connoisseur of Justice, Pain, and Punishment. It is my privilege, my honor, and my duty, to enforce justice, by ensuring that the actions and reactions of the people whom I serve are justified and ethical. When they are not, it is my job to administer the punishment. 

I have always had a cold, unfeeling heart. Until the day that Angel came into my life. November 11th, 2067. On that fateful day, I saw the world in a different light. She gave me my first taste of happiness and taught me how to smile. I no longer cared about inflicting pain and causing suffering. The only thing that mattered to me was her happiness and our life together, which was amazing.

We got married on May 11th, 2069. It was a beach ceremony, officiated by Luke Johnson, the Connoisseur of Theology.

For 7 beautiful years, everything was perfect. During this period of bliss, the only time that I ever hurt anyone was in the line of duty or when I felt that someone posed a potential threat to my family. 

However, these instances were a different kind of torture. It wasn't about causing my victims pain just for the hell of it, or the rush, or fun, or for gits and shiggles.

Before Angel, I would have reveled in the pain and suffering and gotten off using their blood as lube. But this... this... was different. I felt scared for her. I worried about what would happen to her if I wasn't there to protect her. What if the pain that I inflicted on my victims wasn't enough to keep them away from her? What if they didn't learn from this pain. This torture wasn't about me enjoying a blood bath. Instead, it was about me teaching these potential threats that if they fuck with my family they will pay. It was me ensuring the safety of my wife. And it worked. Everyone knew and feared the name of DarkBlade. They knew what would happen if they crossed me.

Until one day, 6 years ago, when my worst fears were imagined. Angel was taken from me by a rival of mine, named Jack Trader. Jack was an aspiring connoisseur who had wanted my spot amongst the ranks of The Connoisseurs.

Jack had challenged me to "The Contest of Connoisseurs" to see which of us was the expert of justice, pain, and punishment in order to determine who truly deserved the title of Connoisseur.

Jack lost the justice portion of the contest because he lacked the common sense and morality to make proper judgment calls. He, also, lost the pain and punishment portion of the contest, because his methods of torture were mediocre and he could not break me. I won and maintained my position and title of Connoisseur.

The next day, while I was working in my dungeon, I got a call from Angel. But when I answered, Jack was on the other line. Since his methods of physical torture did not phase me, he kidnapped and tortured Angel in an effort to psychologically torture me. He killed her in the process.

Today is May, 15th, 2082. Four days after what would have been our 13th wedding anniversary. I have spent the last 6 years searching for Jack, and to this day there is still not a trace of him or Angel’s body. But I will find them. And when I do, I will make him beg me for death. But he will not receive it, for death is a form of mercy. I will not give him that gift. He will suffer. I will make sure of it. He will know what it is like to suffer the way that Angel did.

This ring, which was once a symbolic embodiment of my first and only love, true happiness, and a future that would have been second to none, is now just a reminder that I am not made of stone and that I actually can feel something. Actually, I can feel many things. I feel guilt and remorse for going to work and leaving Angel at home alone that day. I feel anger and rage and an insatiable bloodlust for that sore losing motherfucker. I feel sad and alone without Angel. I feel frustrated that I can't control my feelings. I can't stand being able to feel. I wish I could turn it off. Alas, even if I could I wouldn't, for then I would truly lose her. The pain is unbearable, but she is worth all the pain in the world. For her, I will gladly endure it. It hurts, but the pain keeps her fresh in my heart and in my memory.

The sound of the forgotten alarm jolted me from the sea of memories.

Through half-opened eyes, I checked the time. It was 9:27 a.m..

"I am getting really tired of this shit. 10 a.m. is too damn early for the Convening of the Fucking Assholes".

I should have been up by 8 a.m., but I decided to sleep in because, after a scratch and sniff and armpit check, I determined that I didn't smell too badly and I did not want to waste any precious sleep on showering. I, also, didn't have to worry about finding an outfit and getting dressed because I went to sleep last night in today's outfit. It was a black and blue pin-striped suit, with a 3 tone blue tie, a black vest, blue shirt, and matching gator skin belt and shoes.

I brushed my teeth with a slice of barbecue chicken pizza that I had left over from dinner last night and a cold cup of black gold. Let's face it: no matter how bad your morning breath is, the smells of day-old pizza and burnt coffee are much stronger, thus, masking the breath quite well.

I glanced at the clock on my way out to the garage and it was 9:30. Now, not to toot my own horn or anything, but 3 minutes to be ready and out of the door is impressive, even by my standards.

Fuck yea, right on time.

So, I am heading to The Convening Hall of Connoisseurs. Nothing ever happens on the way there, so, I will use my time behind the wheel, to explain to you what The Convening is, and exactly what the fuck is going on.


	2. Connoiseurism

Over the centuries, there have been many forms of government, economic systems, and social structures. All of which have failed. The most recent failure was democracy.

Democracy failed on March 23rd, 2067. That was the day that Richard Thompson was impeached from his position of Commander in Chief. In his second year of office, he was caught selling military secrets to our enemies and was trying to establish a dictatorship. Richard Thompson was the 57th President of the United States.

Richard Thompson had no political experience and, during his campaign, he often stated that he could not stand what the United States has become. Instead of making promises to make it better, he would say, "Life in the USA would be better if it had a dictator". The media often covered these facts up and made it seem like it was all lies.

His opponent, Billy Jenkins, was the adopted son of Bryan Jacobson. Bryan Jacobson was the vice president of Tanya Hardy, who was the 56th President of the United States. Billy Jenkins grew up around politics his entire life and had much more experience than Richard Thompson. He had an actual plan to make the country better and was a much better choice for the presidency.

The only issue was that Billy had been divorced. His wife couldn't handle the politics. Even though he had done nothing wrong to cause the divorce, the media insisted that he was a bad husband and therefore he could not be a good president. They stated, "How can a man run the country if he cannot even run his household properly? He can’t even maintain a marriage and you expect him to maintain our country? He can’t even keep his wife happy, what do you think he can do for you?".

The majority believed the media and did not do any research for themselves. They voted for Richard, and after his impeachment, it was determined that democracy and voting were no longer the best options.

Now, don't get me wrong. The idea of democracy is great… in theory.

We all vote, the majority rules, and we all think that's fair, right? Not with the electoral college, where 1 vote can equal 15. Not to mention gerrymandering, swing states, the fact that most of our votes don't count, elections are rigged, and Congress uses The President as a puppet and a distraction while they are running things behind closed doors.

Also, the majority is uneducated and lacks common sense. They cannot understand the platforms of the candidates and have no idea how to do research. They do not know who to vote for or why they should vote for them. But they know that their friends and family are voting for that person so they should too.

We live in a herd society full of ignorant and naive sheep that can't tell their ass from a hole in the ground. Should their votes really count, anyway?

A decision as important as who should lead our country shouldn't be decided by people who lack the proper knowledge to make that decision.

Would you ask a blind man to take you on a tour of the Grand Canyon?

On March 24th, 2067, during a press conference, Richard Thompson was publicly executed for his crimes, by me. It was on this day that my ideal of Connoisseurism was born. Yes, this was my brainchild and I am the Founding Father of Connoisseurism and I am the first Connoisseur.

I declared that The United States will no longer be a democracy. I stated that from now on, the decisions would not be made by just one person, lacking in experience and unqualified to make those decisions, in one seat of power. There will no longer be a president.

Instead, the decisions would be made by a group of people, with a lifetime of experience and qualifications to make those decisions, in multiple seats of power.

Each Connoisseur earns their position and title, based on their experiences and skills in their areas of expertise.

There are 14 Connoisseurs and they are:  
The Connoisseur of Coin - Artemis  
The Connoisseur of Art and Culture - Amanda  
The Connoisseur of Education - Ramona  
The Connoisseur of War and Strategy - Brutus, The Bear  
The Connoisseur of Health and Medicine - Mickey  
The Connoisseur of Entertainment - John  
The Connoisseur of Smithing and Weapon Forging - Brian  
The Connoisseur of Justice and Punishment - FalcoDarkBlade  
The Connoisseur of Foreign Affairs - Cecilia  
The Connoisseur of Immigration and Assimilation - Tito  
The Connoisseur of Equality - Michael  
The Connoisseur of Theology - Luke Johnson  
The Connoisseur of Culinary - Pete  
The Connoisseur of Trades and Skills - Tom

They aid each other by offering advice based on their own experiences and expertise in their corresponding fields. For example, if The Connoisseur of War and Strategy needs weapons for his army, he would turn to The Connoisseur of Smithing and Weapon Forging. In order for The Connoisseur of Smithing and Weapon Forging to make more weapons, he would need more funds to do so, so he then goes to The Connoisseur of Coin.

If there is someone who feels that they have the prowess, and expertise, to usurp the current Connoisseur of their field, they can challenge them to "The Contest of Connoisseurs". The Contest is a weekend-long series of challenges that focus on the prerequisites which are required to hold that position, in order to determine who is the most qualified for that position.

Before any of us can take on the responsibilities of our positions, we must swear an Oath of Office. It is called "The Creed of Connoisseur's" and it states, "I am a Connoisseur. I am an expert in my field and trade. It is my duty, my honor, and my privilege to serve my citizenry with my skills and expertise. I have not been appointed or elected to hold this office. I have acquired my title and position based on my abilities and knowledge. I am the best at what I do. I know that one day, there may be someone who feels that they are better than me, who desires to take my position. Should this happen, I and the aspiring connoisseur shall go head to head in a series of tests and events that are based on the skills and prerequisites that are required of my position, to determine which of us is best suited to fulfill the duties and responsibilities of my position. If this aspiring connoisseur should prevail, it is my responsibility to step down and allow the new Connoisseur to take my place. During my term as Connoisseur, I will do everything in my power to support, uphold, and defend The Code of Ethics and everything that they stand for. I will use my position to help those who need help and offer help to those who don't. When giving advice, or aid to a citizen or fellow Connoisseur, my voice will be impartial and unbiased. When administering justice, my hand will not sway, nor will my heart. I will always strive to make the right decision, regardless of what the outcome might be. Should I ever deviate from these words, or abuse my power in any way, I will be impeached from this position and stripped of my titles and never be able to vie for another place in office again. I swear this creed for all to bear witness".

Now, as I have said, I am on my way to The Convening of Connoisseurs. Every Friday at 10 a.m., citizens have the opportunity to come to the Connoisseurs to ask for advice and to request assistance with their problems during “The Convening of Connoisseurs”.

Honestly, I find it extremely annoying that we name everything "The Whatever of Connoisseurs". It is not only lame but also asinine and infantile. Not to mention completely lacking originality. When I designed the infrastructure of Connoisseurism, I never intended for them to name every aspect of the system “of Connoisseurs”. You’d think the Founding Father of something so revolutionary would have a bit more input on naming shit.

Here's a little fun fact, I have made a little acronym for our title, that explains exactly what we do:  
C-O-N-N-O-I-S-S-E-U-R-S  
Competent  
Officials,  
Necessary in the  
Negation  
Of  
Incidents and  
Situations, involving  
Specific  
Experiences,  
Usually  
Regarding their areas of expertise and  
Skill Sets

Did you like that? I knew you would.

Okay, so, that is all that you need to know regarding Connoisseurism. I finished telling you just in time because I just arrived at The Convening Hall of Connoisseurs. Well, let's get this horse and pony show over with, shall we?


	3. The Convening of Connoisseurs

I walked through the door in time to over-hear Michael freaking out.

"...already hates me enough as it is, but today? Today he is going to kill me! I requested this day off for a reason Artemis! You know that this week is the anniv-", Michael stopped talking as Artemis nodded in my direction.

Michael turned around, becoming as white as a ghost when he saw me.

"Morning Arty!" I said to Artemis as I walked toward them. I glanced over at Michael, who was slowly starting to back away from me as I got closer. I placed my hand on the handle of my knife and I winked at him. He tried to run, but tripped over his own feet and fell into the trash can.

"Don't worry, Michael,'' I said while standing over him, looking down at him, hand still on my knife. "There are 3 really good reasons why I won't kill you today:  
First of all, yes, this week is the anniversary of Angel's death. Yes, I will be very irritable today. Yes, I would love to spend some quality time with you, in my dungeon. However, Angel wasn't a big fan of violence, so to honor her on her death week, I will only kill or maim in the line of duty. I promise I won't even break your nose.

Secondly, I wouldn't kill you, for you don't deserve the gift of death. I will make sure that you scream and suffer for as long as I can keep you alive. You will scream until your voice is so hoarse and your throat is so sore that it will feel like you swallowed a box of razor blades. When you die, your screams will still echo in your throat.

Thirdly, when I do come for you, you won't know it, but you will feel it. The shadow that you see in the corner of your eye? That's me. The noises that you hear in the dead of night? That's me. The feeling that you get when you think someone is watching you? That's me. Those moments when out of nowhere you get goosebumps and a slight shiver? That's me. Anytime, you begin to get even just a little bit paranoid, I will be there.

Now, until then, we have a job to do. So get up off of your ass, and get into the Convening Hall, so that we can get the hell out of here." I said with a grin while offering my hand to help him up.

He looked at me incredulously, and said, "You're even scarier when you're being nice. I don't think I've ever seen you smile before".

I laughed heartily and said, "That's because I only smile when I'm in the dungeon, or when I'm in a violent mood".

His expression changed to that of complete horror, as he walked away very quickly and entered the Convening Hall. I couldn't help but laugh once more, at the expression on his face.

"Falco", Arty's voice called out from behind me. I turned around in time to see him fighting not to laugh. He approached me, put his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I think that poor kid just pissed himself! Remind me, again, what exactly did he do to piss you off so badly?"

I looked down at Arty, and said, "He has never done anything wrong. At least not that I know of. One day I came into work early and as I walked by his office, he got all nervous and jumpy as soon as he saw me. Then he started acting as if I had put a dead whore's head in his bed, or something like that. He has been afraid of me ever since, and now he believes that I hate him. To this day, a small part of me wonders what he was doing in there that made him so paranoid. A bigger part of me just doesn't give a fuck. I assume he was probably jacking off or something like that, but I decided that since he is so afraid of me, I might as well give him a good reason to be. Honestly, I kind of like him. Although he is way more fun to frighten than he is to carry on a conversation with".

With that being said, Arty broke out into another round of riotous laughter, as we proceeded behind the other connoisseurs, making our way into the Convening Hall.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first citizen to address us was a young woman, possibly in her early twenties, in maroon glasses, with red hair done up in pigtails, freckles and she wore a red dress with a little bow.

"Good morning, my gracious Connoisseurs. My name is Abigail. I am here today, to seek an audience with the Connoisseur of Coin if it would please him to speak with me.” Abigail said, while curtsying.

Artemis was perplexed and impressed as he stood to address Abigail. He replied, "G-G-G-Good morning, Abigail! It would indeed please me to speak with you! M-M-Might I say, that no one has ever come before us in such a humble and formal manner. I am quite impressed. I do believe that I -", I couldn't take it anymore. I interrupted and said, "Arty! Enough flirting. Wipe your drool off of your mouth, pick your jaw up off the ground, and get her number when we leave. Miss Abigail, you have an audience with the Connoisseur of Coin, and also his undivided attention. Awwwwwww! He's blushing. What can we help you with today?"

"Well," began Abigail, trying hard to hide the fact that she, too, was blushing, "thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Mister Connoisseur. There is a gentleman in the marketplace charging way too much for his paintings. I was wondering if you might be able to look into it for me?".

"I see.'' replied Artemis. "I appreciate you bringing this matter to my attention, and since it concerns the marketplace it is in my field of responsibility. However, unfortunately, I know naught of art. I will bring in the Connoisseur of Art and Culture to assist me in this matter. Amanda? If you will, what should be done to proceed further with this case?".

Amanda stood and replied, "I would like to speak with this artist. Code Enforcers, please bring him to me along with all of his works, so that I may speak with him and appraise the art for myself. Miss Abigail, thank you for bringing this to our attention. Until the Code Enforcers return with the artist, I am afraid that we cannot proceed any further with your request. While we wait, we will take other requests, until they return. Does this satisfy you, or would you like to dismiss your request?"

"Yes, I am very satisfied with this result, Madam Connoisseur, and I will be more than happy to wait for the Code Enforcers to return." Abigail said as she curtsied, smiled at Artemis, and took a seat at the back of the convening hall.

"FALCO!" hissed Artemis as he glared at me. "Do not ever do that again."

I glanced over at Artemis and smiled. "You'll thank me later when she gives you her number."

"She will not give me her number. I haven't even asked for it." he stated.

"You don't have to. Not anymore. I just opened that door right up for you and pushed you through. You're welcome. Please tell me that you saw the way she smiled at you”.

Artemis began to blush again, looked away while rubbing the back of his neck, and said, “Yeah. She has a really pretty smile, doesn’t she?”

“See!? What did I tell you Lover Boy? You're gonna thank me by the end of today”.

Artemis shook his head and said, "You're impossible. You know this, correct?"

I just nodded my head.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m going to interrupt this story real quick. Now, on average, a convening normally ranges between 20-50 cases, an average case is 5-15 minutes long. We never take more than 50 cases a day because we have lives too and no one wants to sit here all day. The earliest we have ever left the Convening Hall was at 2 pm, but normally we are here until between 9 pm and 11 pm. Today’s registry has 43 cases listed and only 8 of them pertain to me. It’s always boring and repetitive, so to save you some time and brain cells, I will only go over the cases that pertain to me, that were exciting and different.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The 19th citizen to come before us presented my 3rd case.

It was a baker, covered from head to toe in flour and a little boy who had looked as if he had spent the last hour in tears. His eyes were puffy and red and a streak of tears still glistened along his cheek.

"I would like to report a thief!" yelled the baker. "Where is the Connoisseur of Justice and Punishment?! I demand to see him at once!"

I stood up and said, "I am here, Sir. You would do well to calm down before I remove you from this hall. You will show some respect while you are here, and shouting out demands will only get you hurt. Do I make myself clear?".

The baker glared up at me with contempt but said nothing.

I leaned over the balcony, my eyes locked onto his, unblinking, and said “Go ahead, Baker. Say something other than, ‘Yes Sir’. I want you to.” The baker opened his mouth to speak, and as he did, I felt my dungeon smile creep across my face and felt my eyes grow wide. I eagerly awaited his insubordination.

After seeing the expression on my face, his suddenly changed, and he simply said, "Yes sir. Crystal clear, Sir. I apologize, Sir. It's just that, this little, sticky-fingered, brat stole from me."

I really wanted him to argue back. What a fucking tease.

I let out a frustrated sigh and said, "Please refrain from name-calling in this hall. This is not high school and I tire of trifling, immature, Mickey Mouse bullshit. I will first hear your side of the story, and then I will hear the child's. You are to refer to him as the child from this point forward while in the hall."

"My apologies again, Sir. This child came into my shop and had no money. He asked if he could have a loaf of bread and I told him no. He then waited behind my dumpster until I threw out this morning's unsold loaves and took them from my trash. I want him to pay the cost of each loaf, and to stay away from me and my shop.” stated the baker.

I looked over at the little boy, and said, "Young man, what is your side of this story?".

The little boy looked up at me and said, "My name is Jake, Sir. It is my pleasure to meet all of you. I am homeless. My mom died a year ago and I have been on my own ever since. The baker and my mom used to date when I was younger. He was so nice to me back then and always gave me fresh bread. After the morning loaves could no longer be sold, he would give them to me. After my mom broke up with him, he stopped being nice to me. I stopped bothering him because I knew I was no longer wanted. I have managed to do alright on my own. I survive by helping the shop owners. I sweep for them and keep their shops clean. In exchange, they give me food and some money. But lately, there has not been much for me to do. I keep the shops so clean that they don't need to be cleaned as often as they used to. This week was really hard for me. I went to the baker, out of desperation, to ask for help but he was so mean to me. I wouldn't have taken the bread from the trash but I was so hungry. I am so sorry, Sir. It will not happen again."

"Let me get this straight, baker. In other words, you are holding resentment toward this child because his mom left you. Is this correct?", I asked.

The baker looked at me with a shameful expression.

"Answer me, baker.'' I said.

The baker looked down at his feet. "Yes, Sir. It is true.", he said.

"Is business so bad for you, that sparing one loaf of bread would break you?" I asked.

The baker shook his head. "No, Sir. Actually, I usually have a hard time keeping up with all of the orders."

I looked at Jake and said, "Jake, you are a very strong and brave young man. You said that you will not take food from this man's trash again, and I will make sure of it. Baker, you have not even given us your name."

"My name is Anthony, Sir." said the baker.

I replied, "Anthony, I cannot punish you for not giving away your product. That is your store and your merchandise. You may do with it as you please. I will also not be punishing Jake, because the bread that he consumed came from your trash. He did not steal anything. Does this decision satisfy you?".

The baker looked disgusted and yelled, "The little sticky-fingered brat, didn't pay for what he has eaten! No, this does not satisfy me!"

I smiled at the baker and retorted, "Good because I am not done yet. I cannot punish you for not giving away your product. However, based on the fact that you came in here yelling and did not even introduce yourself, I can deduce that you lack manners. I have instructed you to show respect in this hall and to not call Jake names. Twice you have disobeyed me. Also, You did not disclose all of the information pertaining to your request to the Connoisseurs.

Not only that but based on my first impression of you, I'd say that you are a selfish man who feels that he is better than everyone else. You act all big and bad, but when I challenged you, you backed down and cowered like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. I believe that it is time for you to learn your place.

You said that you usually have trouble keeping up with all of your orders. Well, now you don't have to worry, because Jake is your new protege. You will give him work and he will be paid and given food. When the shop is closed, Jake will sleep there. You insist that he is a sticky-fingered little brat, so you will make sure that his fingers stay sticky. I want you to make him 2 honey loaves, each night before you go home, so that he may have a nighttime snack if he gets hungry during the night. I want you to mentor him, take care of him, and help him in all of the ways that you can until the time comes when he no longer needs you. Jake, are you satisfied with my decision?".

Jake looked up at me, smiling as I had never seen a child smile before. Tears of relief and happiness overcame him. He said, "Yes, Sir! I am very happy with this, Sir! You saved my life! Thank you, Sir! Thank you so -", Jake was interrupted by Anthony.

"How does he win this?! He did not pay for what he ate! I am not satisfied with this! What kind of game do you think this is?!" he demanded.

I smiled at Anthony and said, "Tell me, Anthony, is it often your practice to sell food from your dumpster? If so, that sounds a bit unsanitary. Perhaps, I should speak with the Connoisseur of Health and Medicine, and have you shut down for not having your store comply with hygiene codes and standards?"

Anthony looked down, defeated. He shook his head and said, "No, Sir. I do not sell the food from my dumpster. I was only trying to charge Jake, because...", Anthony let out a defeated sigh.

"Yes, Anthony?" I asked.

"I apologize, Sir." Replied Anthony with his head hung in shame. "It is as you said earlier. I have been harboring resentment toward him because of his mom. He reminds me of her and seeing him is painful. That was incredibly low and selfish of me. His mom would be flipping in her grave right now if she had known what I have been doing.”

"It appears that you are not as hopeless as I had originally thought." I said with a satisfied grin. I love breaking people and putting them in their place.

At this comment, Anthony looked up and smiled at me. "Thank you very much, Sir. I am satisfied with the results, and I will mentor and take care of Jake from this moment forward until he no longer needs me. Also, instead of my shop, he can stay at my home with me.  
Honestly, I never got over his mom, and I still love her. This is what she would have wanted. Instead of him being a painful reminder of what I lost, I will treat him right and raise him as my own. This will be my tribute to his mom. I will honor her every day by teaching this young man everything that there is to know about the world, life, and my trade. Well, I suppose now I should say ‘OUR’ trade. I will show him the same love that I showed his mom.

Jake, I am so sorry. Are you satisfied with what I just said?"

Now, crying harder than before, Jake ran over to Anthony, jumped into his arms, and shouted, "Yes!".

Anthony wrapped his arms around Jake and tears could be seen flowing against both of their cheeks. Anthony carried Jake out of the hall, and I took my seat once more. I looked around me and all of the other connoisseurs were crying.

"What is wrong with you guys?" I asked confusedly.

Artemis looked at me and said, "That was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen".

I laughed, but he was not wrong. I know that Angel would have cried seeing how well that ended. She would have liked that very much. I'm glad that I could do something so meaningful on this day. I smiled for the first time since Angel's death. That is for her.

Our 35th case was my 8th and final case. I bet you’re glad I skipped ahead, huh. You lucky bastards. I had to actually sit through all of these cases.

The citizens walked in and the room grew quiet. There was a man in a wheelchair, with a neck brace, a black eye, a few teeth were missing, and he had his left leg in a cast. Pushing him, was a very fair blonde who had a split lip, and several bald spots from where her hair had been ripped out.

They were followed by a short, plump woman who had on way too much makeup, and smelled like she took a bath in her perfume, which smelled like a combination of smoked wood, flowers, and cinnamon. It was disgusting.  
"Good morning citizens," I said. "what can we do for you?"

The short lady answered, "Her husband shot my husband, killing him and now I ask for justice."

"Now, based on the current condition of these two, I feel as though I must ask if your husband had anything to do with these injuries." I responded.

The short lady nodded hesitantly.

"Would you like to add anything to the story, Mrs.?" I asked, and she looked away shaking her head.

"Now it is your turn.” I said, shifting my gaze to the injured couple. “What happened that led to these injuries?" I inquired.

"Well Sir," started the gentleman in the wheelchair, "my wife, the young lady behind me, and I were walking home when out of nowhere her husband pulled a knife on us. He demanded my wallet and I gave it to him. I don't carry cash and that upset him, so he then demanded my wife's purse and there was nothing of value in there either. His wife then yelled, ‘beat them!’. He then punched my wife, ripped out a handful of her hair, and then started beating me. I carry a concealed firearm as permitted by the Code of Ethics and I never use it unless it is absolutely necessary. I was in fear for our lives so I shot him. I saw it as either us or him. We would not be alive if I had not shot him."

"Is there anything that either party would like to add to their story before we continue?" I asked.

Both parties shook their heads.

I looked at the short lady in disbelief and said, "You came here to seek justice because this man killed your husband. Yet, you were completely fine with your husband attacking these people? Your husband is lucky to be dead. Had it been me, I would have shot him in the spine so that you both would have to suffer from the consequences. He got off easy.

You, however, encouraged the attack and I wouldn't be surprised if it was your idea. You are financially responsible for their recovery. You will pay for all of their hospital bills related to these injuries from your husband and should they need counseling or any mental health care due to the trauma of the attack, you will be responsible for that as well. Code Enforcers, take this couple into the medical wing and assess their injuries. I want a detailed list of everything that she and her husband have done to them. Then take this woman to my dungeon. I will ensure that her injuries match the victims. I want her to suffer the same way these two have."

The short lady's eyes widened in fear as the realization of my words struck her. She screamed and pleaded while trying to resist as the Code Enforcers dragged her to my dungeon.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I listened to her screams echo from the hall until I could hear no more. So soothing.

“Artemis,” I began, “since that was my last case, I'm-...", I was interrupted by the Convening Hall doors opening as the Code Enforcers came through with the artist and several of his works.

"As I was saying, I'm going to take off since my cases are done. Don't get me wrong, I would love to stay and enjoy these last 8 cases with you, but I have a date with a short lady, and it would be rude to keep her waiting.", I said with a smile and turned to leave.

Artemis grabbed my arm, pulled me back gently, and said, "I have a feeling we will be needing you for this one. You may end up with 2 dates tonight."

I sighed and replied, "Fine. I'll stay for this case, but not a moment longer."


	4. The Punishments

“Miss Abigail,” began Amanda, “please come forward once more.”

As Abigail approached, her eyes were fixed on Artemis. I looked over at Artemis and saw that his eyes were glued to Abigail. If they keep this shit up, I’m not going to be able to sit through this case.

Artemis cleared his throat and adjusted his tie as he stood up and said, “Welcome back, Abby.”

His face turned bright red as he realized what he had just said. “I-I-I mean Abigail. I am so sorry.”

Abigail giggled, brushed her hair past her ear, and said, “Don’t worry, Mister Connoisseur, Sir. You can call me Abby if you’d like”. She twirled her hair between her fingers and added, “You can call me whatever you’d like.”

“In that case, feel free to call me Arty,” Arty replied, as all of the connoisseurs let out a small gasp. I’m not going to lie, even I was a bit shocked by that declaration. Artemis hates being called Arty and I am the only one that he tolerates calling him that. This is much more serious than I thought. Dare I say, this might actually be kind of cute. I’m happy for him.

“Sorry to interrupt you two, however, we still have 8 more cases after this and it’s getting late. Code Enforcers, bring forth the artist, please.” Amanda said sternly. She did not seem too perturbed, however, as the look on her face said that she, too, was very happy for Arty and his new love interest.

As the artist came forward, Amanda looked at Abigail, motioned toward the artist, and asked, “Is this the artist that you have accused of overpricing his paintings?”

Abigail nodded and said, “Yes, Madam Connoisseur. This is the artist”. 

Amanda then turned her gaze to the artist and said, “What is your name, Sir?”

The artist bowed low and stated, “My name is Brandon. I am the creator of these fine quality works and I deny any and all accusations of overpricing. Price is subjective and my pieces are worth every penny. Price is like an opinion, they may differ among people, but there is no such thing as a wrong opinion. They are merely products of people’s beliefs, personal feelings, and tastes. My prices are based on the quality of the work, the time and effort that went into them, and also for the creativity and originality of the works. Can my prices be lower? Sure. But these are my intellectual property and are all products of my imagination. You have never seen anything like these before and will not again. This is why I charge so much. This is the price that, to me, these items are worth. There is no scale of measure that can say my work is underpriced or overpriced. It is my work. I set my price. If she doesn’t want to pay it, then I have plenty of other customers who will.”

“Very well then, Brandon. I would like to see these works of yours. Please present them to us, and I will appraise them”, stated Amanda.

Artemis added, “You are absolutely correct, Brandon. Original works by you can be priced at whatever you like. Even if the works are overpriced, so long as they are yours, you may charge whatever it is worth to you. There is no right or wrong price. Just know, that if a prospective buyer finds the price is unreasonable or not worth it to them, then that is one less customer that you will have. Price IS subjective.

Let’s say you have a $1,000 brick of gold, and you’re trying to sell it. The highest offer you get is $50. Regardless of how much it is actually worth, the value is only $50. An object is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it.”

Brandon nodded and said, “Thank you very much for those wise words, Sir. I will surely take them into consideration. Firstly, we have this piece that I call, ‘The Smiling Woman’, as he held up the first piece of art.

Amanda’s head tilted to the side as she looked at the painting. She looked stunned and perplexed, but said, “Okay. Show me some more, please.

“This one, I call ‘An Expression of Horror’”, he stated holding up another painting.

Amanda now looked amused and she shook her head in disbelief.

Brandon then held up another painting and stated, “This one is called ‘Touching Tips’ and is -”

Amanda cut him off and snapped, “And is actually called, ‘The Creation of Adam’ and is currently a part of the ruins of the Sistine Chapel”.

Brandon looked confused and said, “I'm sorry? What do you mean?”

Amanda scoffed and retorted, “These are all classic pieces of artwork. It saddens me to admit this, but with all of our technological advances over the years, most people live with their noses in their phones and have no interest or care for history. Not many people today are aware that these paintings ever existed. Most museums were abandoned and the artworks within were cataloged and archived in a vault in my office. Over the years these pieces have been long forgotten. You attempt to sell these so-called originals to the unknowing public and take advantage of the fact that most people today don’t know what they are. Your ‘smiling woman’ is actually called the ‘Mona Lisa’ and your ‘Expression of horror’ is really called ‘The Scream’. I assume you knew that already though, didn’t you?”

“I swear, I have never heard of the Sister’s Chaperone or the Moaning Lizard. These are my creations from my brain, projections of my dreams and thoughts, and my sweat and blood went into these paintings! These are mine. I created them. There are no others like them”.

Amanda shook her head, “You are delusional and I deduce that after all of this time of passing these works off as your own, you now actually believe that you created them. So, I will prove it to you”.

Amanda pulled out her phone, approached Brandon, and said, “Not only are these works stored in my vault, but they are also stored digitally on my phone as well. As you can see…” Amanda presented her phone to Brandon. “...this is the Mona Lisa, The Scream, and The Creation of Adam. I’m Sure whatever other pieces you have we can also find in my phone as well. Do you still believe that your works are original?”

“Yes Ma’am,” started Brandon, “these are my original renditions of the classics.”

I laughed in disbelief.

“So what you’re saying,” I began, “is that when we first started this case, and you said, ‘...these are my intellectual property and are all products of my imagination. You have never seen anything like these before and will not again.’ you were actually lying? Is this correct?”

Brandon did not answer.

“Then you even went as far as to say, ‘I swear, I have never heard of the Sister’s Chaperone or the Moaning Lizard. These are my creations from my brain, projections of my dreams and thoughts, and my sweat and blood went into these paintings! These are mine. I created them. There are no others like them’. So now I ask, ‘how can you make a rendition of a painting that you have never heard of?’”

Brandon’s eyes widened at the realization that he had been caught.

“It appears that we have a forger. Arty, considering the schpiel earlier regarding price being subjective IF these were indeed original, what does that mean since these are forgeries?”

“Well,” began Arty, “that means whatever prices the originals are, his prices had better be much lower. If not, we can charge him not only for forgery but for fraud as well.”

“Not even close.” Amanda joined in chuckling. “The prices that he has listed here are at least double what the originals are worth.”

“Prices are subjective, like opinions,” I said mockingly. Let me tell you something about opinions, Brandon:  
Opinions are like booty-holes. We all have one, sometimes they are shitty, and you should never force your’s onto someone else without their consent.

So, what do you want to do Artemis?” I asked.

Artemis placed his hand on his chin and looked as if he were deep in thought. He then said, “I see no other option but to shut him down.”

Turning to Brandon, Arty said, “Based on the evidence that we have gathered, I have no choice but to shut you down and ban you from selli-...”

I grabbed Arty’s shoulder and said, “I have a much better punishment in mind for him, if you will consider?”

“What do you have in mind, Falco?”, Arty asked.

“I’m sure this delusional and misguided little con man needs to run his shop in order to survive and make a living. I’m not sure how he managed to do so with his prices being so high, but I digress. You know, the human body is an incredible thing. Capable of adapting to almost any circumstance and proving to be quite resilient.

I know of a man who has no legs and travels on a skateboard. Some acrobats can shoot a bow and arrow with their feet. Another person I have heard of has modified his car to be able to drive with no legs. I once heard of a woman with no legs who walks on her hands. In my travels, I met a construction worker with no hands. I can keep going for hours about all of the incredible stories I have heard of.

Brandon, what is your blood type?” I added as I turned to meet his eyes.

“O-Positive, Sir.”, replied Brandon, his voice cracking with fear and uncertainty.

I turned toward the Connoisseur of Health and Medicine and asked, “Mickey, do you currently have any O-Positive in stock?”

Mickey nodded and said, “Yessir. Would you like me to have some ready?”

“Yes please, My Dear, and also have a bed prepped for Brandon as well, please. He will be visiting you very shortly.”

She nodded and turned toward Artemis. “Sir, According to today’s registry, the last 8 cases do not require my presence. May I be excused to fulfill Falco’s request?”

Arty replied, “Yes, Mickey. That is fine.” then turned his gaze toward me again and asked in awe, “What twisted plans do you have in store for this artist, Falco?”

I smiled and said, “I don’t think the proper punishment would be to take away his shop. Instead, we should ensure that he can never commit another forgery.”

Arty’s eyes grew wide as he interpreted my words in his brain and then he asked, “Do you mean…?”

I nodded in reply.

I turned to the Connoisseur of Smithing and Weapon Forging and stated, “What better place to punish a forger, than in a blacksmith’s forge?” I let out a loud maniacal laugh. I’m not going to lie, that was hilarious. “Brian, might I be able to utilize your office to administer this artist’s punishment?”

Brian nodded and turned to Arty. “Artemis, may I-”

“Yes, yes, you are dismissed”, interrupted Arty with a smile.

“Brian, I will require a 6”x12” rectangular piece of metal to be prepared and ready for after I am finished. Could you do that for me?”

“Yessir!” Brian said as he turned and left the hall.

I turned toward the Code Enforcers and said, “Code Enforcers, I want the short lady brought from my dungeon to the forge, so that she may witness this punishment. I will also require 12 blank canvases placed in a vertical rectangle in a 3x4 formation.”

“Oh yeah! And bring me my Damascus Sword!” I added before turning back toward Brandon.

“As I was saying, the human body is quite resilient and can adapt to overcome many shortcomings,” I said as I started to make my way toward Brandon. “This is why I am confident that you will still be an amazing artist, even if you had to learn to hold the paintbrush with your teeth or feet.”

The fear in Brandon’s expression grew as he realized what was happening. He turned to run but my hand was already on his collar. I pulled him back like a cartoon dog chasing after a mailman, reaching the length of his rope and getting yanked back by the force.

He struggled against my grasp and the begging and pleading already started. I turned to look at him and asked, “When will you people learn that the more you beg, scream, and plead, the more fun I have. Go ahead, keep struggling. You’re just gonna wear yourself out.”

“Well, Arty” I began, as I started walking toward the exit of the hall, dragging Brandon behind me, “I stayed for that last case. You were right, you really did need me and now I have 2 dates tonight. So, thank you very much. Speaking of dates, pleasure meeting you Abigail.”

Abigail giggled and waved to me and looked up at Arty, blushing once more.

“Don’t have too much fun, Falco! I’ll see you tonight at the Congrega-”

“NO! Don’t you dare say it! I will kick you so hard in your nuts that your great-great-great-great-grandchildren will inherit the fucking bruises! Dinner! Its fucking dinner!” I snapped, interrupting Arty. “You know how I feel about our naming system! I’ll see you tonight at DINNER. Until then, don’t do anything I would do.”

As we exited the hall, we passed the citizens coming in for the next case. Seeing me drag a fighting and flailing body behind me must have been quite the shock. They froze in their tracks and stared until we were no longer in their line of sight.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As we reached the forge, a Code Enforcer handed me my sword and stated, “Your sword, Sir. Also, the canvases are arranged as you have requested and the blacksmith has that piece of metal for you. We have received word that the O-Positive and bed are ready for Brandon whenever he is ready for them. You will find the short lady in the corner nearest the furnace. Have fun, Sir.”

I closed the doors to the forge and the only light that remained was from the furnace. It cast a strong, warm, orange and red glow across the room. The room had a heat hotter than a sauna. The flames of the furnace can be seen dancing along the walls. It looked and felt exactly how you would imagine Hell to look and feel. It was amazing and I felt truly at home. It was so peaceful and dark.

“Damn Brian,” I said while throwing Brandon toward the canvases, “I need a furnace like this in my dungeon. The atmosphere here is amazing!”

Brandon lies on the floor in a fetal position. I grabbed him by the arm and he tried to squirm away and started to beg and cry for mercy. I hoisted him up and said, “Come on, let’s go. This will be over quickly. Unless you want me to take my time with you? I can make this last all day if you want.”

He shook his head furiously and begged for me to reconsider.

“Listen, you little shit stain! Nothing you do or say is going to get you out of this. You have 2 options:  
You can either shut the fuck up and do as you’re told and I will chop your hands off swiftly. It will be over before you even know it.  
If you say another fucking word, I will break each individual digit of your fingers and then chop each finger off one-by-one, one digit at a time and I will make sure that you feel every one of the cuts.  
So, without saying another sound, which option would you like?”

He held up a finger indicating option 1.

“Smart choice.” I said with an intentional tone of sadness. “I was really hoping you would pick 2 though. 2 is much more fun.”

I positioned him in the center of the second canvas and raised his arms up so that they were parallel to the canvases. He kept swaying and his knees kept giving out because they were shaking so badly with fear.

I stood beside him and placed the sword against his wrists to line up my cut. I raised my sword in the air and brought it down, but the little fucker jerked his hands out of the way.

I stared at him incredulously. “Really? Did you really just do that?”

He started trembling all over as he nodded, then said, “I’m so s-s-s-s-sorry, Sir. I don’t want to lose my-”

I punched him in the face, breaking his nose.

“Move your fucking hands again and we go with option 2. This is your only warning.”

Once again, I placed my sword along his wrists to line up my cut. I raised the sword high up above my head and brought it down against his wrists.

His hands came clean off like a hot knife through butter and landed with a thud on the canvases beneath us. He screamed an unearthly scream and started jumping up and down like a child and flailing his arms freaking out.

I slapped him and said, “Keep your fucking hands above these canvases. If even a single drop misses, I’m going to chop your arms off at the elbow, and we will try again. Stop crying and screaming. They’re gone. Acting like a baby won't grow them back. Act like you have some dignity.”

I set down my sword and moved behind Brandon and grabbed him by the stumps. I started moving them up and down and around and using the blood spray to draw on the canvases.

“Now you can honestly say that you put sweat and blood into your work”, I said laughing.

It was a beautiful display while it lasted, but I could feel him growing limp as I held his stumps. His screams became little whimpers and those became whispers as he lost almost all of his color and became very pale. I let go of him and he collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

“Brian, please bring over that piece of metal and cauterize this wound for me.”

I held his stumps up in the air as Brian brought forth the glowing piece of metal. The heat was excruciating just being near it. The air became hard to breathe. I couldn’t imagine touching it, let alone having it touch a fresh wound like the ones I have just made. Brian placed the metal against the stumps and the air filled with the smell of burning flesh and boiling blood. The metal sizzled against his flesh and as Brian went to remove the metal, you could hear it rip off the skin that had melted to it.

You could even see little bits of skin still stuck to it.

I rolled Brandon out of the way and grabbed his hands off of the canvas. No fucking way! Where the hands had fallen, it blocked the canvas from getting showered on. So the canvas had 2 bright white handprints in the middle of the spray designs.

“I have to say, you are talented indeed. These are truly magnificent. I really like this one.” I say as I pick up the canvas with the 2 handprints. “I think I will keep it and hang it in my dungeon. Thank you very much, Brandon. I’ll let you keep these other 11. These are the first of your new ORIGINAL works of art.”

I motion for the Code Enforcers to come forward and say, “Code Enforcers, take Brandon to the Connoisseur of Health and Medicine”.

“Yessir!” They call out as they lift him up and begin to carry him out of the room.

“Oh! And Brandon! Get some rest and make sure you drink lots of fluids. If you need anything, I'm sure Mickey will be more than happy to give you a hand", I added as I began to laugh hysterically. I don’t care who you are, that shit was funny.

“Brian, Thank you very much for allowing me to come into your beautiful office and permitting me to use it for my own purposes.” I said with a smile, still admiring the beautiful atmosphere and watching the flames lick the wall.

I looked over at the short lady. She let out a whimper and hid behind the furnace. The whole time, she hadn’t said a word or made a sound. I gotta give her credit, if it had been anyone else but me, they may have even forgotten she was there. But I am me, and I don't forget things like this.

I grabbed her by the hair, pulled her close to me, jerked her head back so that she was looking up into my eyes and I said, “That lovely blonde had several bald spots. Let’s start our session there, shall we?” I then dragged her out of the forge by her hair, leading her down the hall to my office. She fought and screamed the entire way and ended up with 4 very noticeable bald spots.

“Now, I'm going to spare you the details of this next part. Trust me, it's not going to be pretty and it will not end well for her. You don't want to see this. Don’t worry, I’ll be out in a bit.” I say as I enter my office and close the doors behind me, leaving the readers out in the hallway.


	5. The Congregation of Connoisseurs

The hall was almost too quiet. Aside from the crackling of the torches, the silence was deafening. Some of the other Connoisseurs were unable to appreciate the ambiance that is accompanied by my work, so I had to completely soundproof my office so no sound could escape from it. Apparently screams and sobbing are too “distracting” for them to get their work done.

The Hall of Connoisseurs looks like your typical business office. Nothing ornate or special that stands out in any way. Generic wallpaper, wood floors, and it's always cold. You go down a hallway of offices where the lighting is too bright, turn the corner and there's another hallway of offices but the lighting is too dim. 

Not my office, however. It's almost as if you stepped into a secret portal straight into a dungeon cell. As you look around the corridor you notice that the walls are made of overlapping stones and resemble the stonework of a castle. Along these walls, sconces of medieval torches are aflame and the only source of light. Between each sconce is a painting depicting lewd and/or violent behavior: naked women, executions, orgies, beheadings, the utilization of torture devices, dismemberings, and scenes of war. My office doors are wooden and of a fortress style design that looks as if you are standing in front of a castle. They even have a drawbar bracket where you lie a piece of wood across the doors in order to lock them from the inside, just like on the front doors of a castle. It is not that secure, but trust me, no one wants to be in my office anyway. On both sides of the doors, you see my achievements, awards, certificates, and my other credentials. Normally, people put these things inside of their office, but I got tired of cleaning the blood off of them so I said fuck it and decided to be different. You look above my door to see my favorite painting: a woman dangling on a spear who has been skewered vaginally. Her head tilted back as the tip of the spear juts out from her agape mouth. It’s truly beautiful.

It is so surreal. The flames make the shadows dance along the walls and paintings. Its so quiet and so dark. Its the most relaxing and serene environment you have ever seen. The warmth of the flames lick at you and you can’t help but to close your eyes, take a deep breath and just let the darkness, warmth, and silence embrace you.

The rattle of the door jolts you out of your trance and you move out of the way just in time as the doors swing open. The brightness of the light from my office is blinding, making it impossible to see inside, but you can hear the hoarse, raspy, snotty sobs, and labored breathing of the short lady.

I shut the doors behind me and as your eyes adjust to the darkness once more, through the flickering light of the flames you can see a satisfied smile on my face and blood on my shirt. I put my suit jacket back on, take a deep breath, and exhale loudly.

“Now that was fun!” I exclaim proudly. “So cathartic and therapeutic. I feel great! I’m like a little fat kid in a candy shop! A satyr in a whore house! You guys did very well. Thank you so much for your patience.”

“Alright!” I say as I clap my hands, and rub them together in eager excitement, “Let’s go get some dinner!”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walked into the restaurant and saw that the other Connoisseurs were already sitting at our usual table. It's tucked away in the very back and has the best vantage point, where I can see everyone in the restaurant and also see all of the entry points. If anything goes down while I'm here, I’ll know about it.

I approached the table and much to my surprise, Arty had not arrived yet, which is odd because Arty is always the first to arrive at all Connoisseur functions.

I must not have done a very good job at hiding the confusion on my face, because before I could ask, Brian stated, “That must be one hell of a date. It’s not like Artemis to show up late for anything”.

I nodded in agreement as I took my usual seat at the head of the table.

Since we can't get started until Arty arrives, I decided to distract myself by perusing the menu, even though I already know that I’m ordering my usual: a 16oz bloody ribeye, that moos when you cut into it, served with 2 lobsters, scallops, and shrimp, my starch is seasoned sweet potato fries, and my vegetable is a salty, buttery, cob of corn. It isn’t on the menu. It’s a special dish that the chef makes for me that I like to call the DarkBlade Special.

We come here every Friday after the convening to unwind after a busy week and discuss life and just hang out and enjoy ourselves a bit.

As I sat the menu down, I saw Arty slinking through the side door in what I believe was his attempt at being sneaky. So, me being me, I loudly declared, “Hey, Arty! So nice of you to join us!”

His face turned so red, you would have thought he was a neon sign in the red light district.

He sighed in defeat and rolled his eyes, approaching the table at a regular, not sneaky, pace.

“Thanks for that intro Falco. Just what I needed”, he said exasperated.

“Look, sneaky just isn’t your thing. Besides, even if you made it all the way over here, unnoticed, how did you intend on getting to your seat with no one seeing you?” I stated matter of factly.

“Oh. I, uh…”, Arty began but paused to think of a response. “I’m not exactly sure. I normally don’t have to resort to such tactics. I guess I didn’t really think that through all too well”.

I shrugged nonchalantly and said, “No worries, Arty. It happens to the best of-”.

“BUT IT DOESN’T HAPPEN TO ME!”, bellowed Arty. A tear rolling down his cheek. “I let you guys down”.

“Oh! Come on! Pull yourself together! No need to be all emotional. Look, as the number 2 Connoisseur, you do an amazing job and you bust your ass and set the example more than anyone that I know. You live, sleep, eat, and breathe the Code Of Ethics and if anyone deserves a little leniency it's you! Everyone here will agree with me that you deserve to take a few moments so that you can enjoy yourself.” I said while gesturing to the other Connoisseurs who were nodding in agreement. “Notice how no one cared or said anything about me setting you up with Abigail? It’s because you deserve to be happy and do more than just sit in the office all day. You need to get a life. So, when we saw that you were late, we knew and understood it was because of your date. We waited patiently. It's the least we can do after all you do for us.”

“Hell, I'm the head Connoisseur and I’m the most laid back of us all. I always show up late and I don’t exactly care for these little events but I do them because I am obligated to do so. If they put up with me, they sure as hell can tolerate you being a little late. So shut up and spill the tea. How was the date?” I asked with an intrigued grin.

“Well, you were right, Falco. I got her number. Thank you”.

“Arty”, I began as I placed a hand on his shoulder, “it looks as if you got a whole lot more than just her number, my friend”.

The women giggled and the men clapped their hands as Arty turned bright red again. He then asked, “Is it that obvious?”

I shook my head in disbelief of his naivety. “Oh yeah, very. You see, there are several signs. You have sex hair. Your shirt is slightly untucked in the back. Your belt buckle is not aligned with your zipper. You have lipstick on your collar. There’s a strand of red hair on your shoulder. You smell like her perfume. You also smell like sex. Your neck is covered in hickies and you have a -”

“Okay okay! I get it!” interrupted Arty. “Look, I have wasted enough of all of your time already, so let’s order our meals so that we can commence the Congregation of Conn-”

“ARTY!!!” I exclaimed, interrupting that vile name before he can finish saying it.

Arty tossed his hands up in an “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me” kind of way, and then said “Dinner. Let us order our food so that we may have dinner”.

I pat him on the head, ruffled his hair, and said, “Good boy”.

We placed our orders and while we waited we got down to business.

“For our first order of business," I began, "I propose that we stop calling everything we do ‘The Blank of Connoisseurs’ and start calling them by their proper names. For example, this is not the ‘Congregation of Connoisseurs’, this is ‘Dinner’. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. All in favor say, ‘Aye!’”.

They all stared at me and in unison, they said, “Nay!” just like they do every Friday at Dinner.

“Falco, you try this every Congre… I mean, Dinner. I don't understand, why do you hate the naming system so much? Aren’t you the one who came up with this whole thing?” asked Luke.

“No,” I said flatly. “My idea was getting rid of the popularity contest that we called “Democracy”. A popularity contest in which a bunch of hairless primates who lack common sense, and the ability to do their own research, and who blindly follow what a TV or a computer says, vote to determine their future leaders.”

“It was a farce. I said as I rose from my seat. “Instead, the people who should be in power, have the knowledge, skills, and abilities to be in power and use that power for good and to benefit us all.”

“As far as the naming system goes, I don't know who came up with it, or why I was never asked for my feedback regarding it. Especially considering the fact that I came up with this whole thing!!!”

The other Connoisseurs looked at me incredulously. “Fine,” I said defiantly as I sat back down in my chair and crossed my arms. “I’ll try again next week.”

“I think,” Tom began, “Perhaps we shall discuss personal hygiene and the importance of maintaining it.

Arty stood up and hung his head low, then said, “I am so sorry to you all. First I was late, and then I came in here all slovenly and disheveled. I let you all down. I’m sorry. Please know that no one is more disappointed in me than me. I hope you can all forgive me.”

Tom and the others looked at him in disbelief.

“Uh… No.” Tom said. “Artemis, you are fine. It’s a one-time thing and as Falco said, you deserve leniency. We are so happy that your date went well. I am actually referring to Falco.”

I was enjoying my glass of red wine when I heard my name mid-sip. I involuntarily let out a gasp, and in doing so, I inhaled a mouthful of wine and began choking on it and spilling it all over me.

“Me?!” I asked incredulously. “What is wrong with my hygiene?”

Tom replied, “Before? There was nothing wrong. However, since the day you lost Angel, you have let yourself go. It’s like you just gave up and you don't care. You were once the best of us, but as you said, now, you only show up because you're obligated to do so.”

I stood up and removed my jacket, placing it on the back of my chair. I extended my arms in a “look at me” type gesture and did a little spin to show them my front, back, and sides. “My suit is immaculate as always, tucked in neatly, and aside from one or 2 wrinkles, I look rather ravishing, if I do say so myself”.

“Falco,” arty started, shaking his head, “your shirt is covered in blood brother”.

I looked down and saw the remnants of this evening’s festivities. I sighed and said, “Right. I forgot about that. I suppose I did get a bit carried away this evening. But had I gone home to change, I would have arrived here late as I always do. Instead, I was on time. See? Progress!” I added with a smile.

“I admit, it was weird seeing you here before Artemis,” said Amanda.

“Hell, it was weird seeing any of you before Artemis,” Nelson added with a chuckle.

“Falco, if Angel saw you right now,” Michael chimed in, “how do you think she would react? She would not want you to-” I interrupted him by throwing my steak knife across the table.

Everyone at the table ducked as my knife took flight and skewered the fish that was on his plate.

“The next one will land in your eye!” I roared.

The entire restaurant was now looking at us, in shock and fear of what just took place.

Arty stood up and said, “We are all terribly sorry for the commotion ladies and gentlemen. Reginald,” he nodded toward the restaurant manager, “please ensure that everyone here gets a drink or dessert of their choice and add it to my tab. I do hope that you all enjoy your meals and can forgive us for this disturbance”. Reginald nodded and called over the nearest waitress, borrowing her pen and her order notepad. He then took the responsibility upon himself to carry out Artemis’s request.

Artemis then turned to me, and the glares of the other’s soon followed.

“You, of all people, should know how stupid, reckless, dangerous, and immature that stunt was, yes?” barked Arty.

I scanned the table, making eye contact with everyone, and ensuring that they knew that what I was about to say was directed to them all.

“You have all loved someone or something once. A pet, maybe. A person. You all have emotions that function properly as well: Joy, Sorrow, Anger, Fear, Disgust, Love, Trust, Shame, Envy, etc. Let’s say you have a pet and it makes you happy for a while. It dies and you become sad for a while. Eventually, you get a new pet and you’re happy again. Or perhaps it is a person. Maybe a relative or a friend. You have memories and things to remind you of them. You distract yourself by burying yourself into your work or getting a hobby. Eventually, the pain lessens. Sure, that emptiness will always be there, but eventually, it goes away and its replaced by something else”.

“I love cupcakes. I love the beach. I love reading. I love puppies. These things make you happy. You lose one thing and fall in love with something else. I have observed these traits that emotions give you. The way I see it, its all so superficial and fake. Its all replaceable. Nothing ever truly matters. You always move on.”

“I have never known any of these emotions. I have never found joy in anything other than the suffering of my victims and hearing their screams. Angel changed all of that and now that she is gone, I can not just replace her or the feelings that I have for her. There is no more happiness. Not even when I torture.”

“All I want to do is sleep and not feel this emptiness. This hollow feeling in my chest that feels like a weight is crushing me. Its hard to breathe. Its hard to think. I can barely get out of bed in the morning. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I can still hear her voice. I can still feel her arms around me. I can still smell her perfume. I can still taste her lips. At night, I find myself reaching over to touch her, only to find an empty spot where she should be. An empty spot that still has an impression of her body, where she used to lie next to me. An empty spot that pales in comparison to the empty spot that I feel in my heart.”

“I can’t just move on and find new happiness. I don’t work that way. I am broken. I always have been. It never bothered me before. Not until I learned how to not be broken. Angel, was my everything. I will never get her back.”  
“No, she would not want me to be sad or miserable, and yes, she would want me to move on. But how can I? Her death was my fault. It is because of me that she is dead. I will never forgive myself”.

I sat back down and no one said a word. They all loved Angel as well. This was the first time that I ever opened up and shared these things.

Arty got up and hugged me, followed by Amanda, Nelson, Brian, and the rest of them.

When they returned to their seats, Luke started talking about the wedding and we all shared stories of how much she meant to us.

It was empowering to hear how special she was, not just for me, but for everyone. I knew she was amazing, but I had no idea how much of an impact she had on my colleagues.

She kept Amanda company and spent hours on the phone with her when her son had fallen ill.

She stayed by Pete’s side and encouraged him as he fought cancer.

She paid for 3 months of Nelson’s rent after his accident and also helped cover many of his bills because he was out of work.

She babysat for every connoisseur with kids at least 50 times.

I never really thought about how much time I missed with her while I was working. She made excellent use of her time. She was truly remarkable.

Everyone had so many stories about how Angel had affected their lives.

We laughed, we cried, we told jokes and we held a little memorial for Angel. I learned a lot tonight and I fell even more in love with the woman that I get to call my wife.

As we all said our goodbyes and prepared to leave, I smiled, for the second time since her death.


End file.
